


The Ones Who Bump Back

by hrodvitnon



Category: Hellboy - All Media Types, The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: American Sign Language, Continuity Melting Pot, Crossover, Cryptids, Developing Friendships, Eventual Romance, Monster Buddies, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parkour, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 01:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrodvitnon/pseuds/hrodvitnon
Summary: Another TSOW/Hellboy crossover!Elisa's family consists of demon and fish man brothers, a pyrokinetic sister, the nice river god next door, and others.(or)In which Elisa Esposito, fresh out of a Baltimore orphanage, is adopted by a demonic paranormal investigator and enters a life of the occult, paranormal, and supernatural.  There are things that go bump in the night, and they're the ones who bump back.





	The Ones Who Bump Back

****

**Part 1: Chesapeake Monsters**

_Baltimore, Maryland – 1981_

Today is Elisa Esposito’s 18th birthday.

Or, more accurately, it’s the 18th anniversary of the day she was found on a Patapsco riverbed; no name, no parents or extended family to speak of.  She might have died that day if a morning jogger hadn’t glimpsed the shape of her by chance, exposed to the elements with nothing but the skin on her bones and what appeared to be three symmetrical incisions on both sides of her neck, rendering her mute.  Any wailing another newborn could make would come out as disconcerting bursts of voiceless breaths, as if one expels all the air from their lungs and then tries to talk.

In another story she would have been taken in by that jogger and enjoyed a relatively happy childhood.  As it stands, that jogger left her at the Baltimore Home for Wee Wanderers, a last-century psych ward-turned-orphanage.  This is where she got her name.  This is also where she had to grow thick skin and strong running legs, for the soft and slow are eaten alive in this orphanage.

Elisa doesn’t know if the caretakers ever, well, _cared_ for the children they look after or if at some point it just turned into another chore to deal with and get on with their day.  She remembers one day of running, jumping, climbing all over the neighborhood to escape some thrashings from her usual tormentors when she’d come across one of the other orphanages down the block.  This’d been the Jewish-run one, and she recalls the profound confusion she’d felt upon seeing a fellow orphan being embraced by their caretaker.  Same thing at the Catholic orphanage on the other side of town.

Why does Home have to be so different?  There’s no reason for it, at least none that Elisa can comprehend.  Maybe the ghosts of long dead psych patients have sucked all capacity for affection out of the people running Home, especially the Matron.  How many times has Elisa scaled the damned building just to escape punishments, or just cutting words, from that hag? 

'Monster' is a favorite insult of the Matron’s regarding Elisa.  Maybe she’d started using it when Elisa, at the age when beasts under the bed or in the closet were very real threats, took to sleeping under her mattress some nights.  She’s been called that so many times that Elisa believes monsters to be better than people – they might not treat her so horribly.  Elisa often dreams of that, when she isn’t dreaming of water.

But people are what Elisa will have to deal with now that she is old enough to leave Home and face the world.  Her 'graduation ceremony' consists of a wakeup call by ice water from the usual suspects, one last chase around the building which is only ended when Elisa climbs to the roof _again_ , and sitting under the malicious scowl of the Matron.  Here Elisa is armed to face the unknown with a suitcase full of thrift store clothes, a month’s worth of rent money, and a pair of the most uncomfortable shoes known to man.

“You’ll be a whore by Christmas,” she hears the Matron vow on the way out.  Elisa feels the corner of her mouth curl up ever so slightly into a smirk.  Before exiting the gates Elisa turns and performs the customary flipping off, as done by fellow graduates before her.  Locking eyes with the Matron she extends her other middle finger in a mock salute.

Hearing cheers and giggles from the children gives Elisa a sense of validation.  This might just be the closest thing she’ll get to family seeing her off into a hopeful future.

So long, Ma.  I’ll write when I find work.

Elisa shuts the gates behind her confidently, feeling like a 20th century Artful Dodger.  Baltimore is her jungle gym.  She knows this town like the back of her hand, and it won’t take long at all to find her place in the working world.

It’s not until Elisa sees the first NOW HIRING sign on a restaurant window that it occurs to her; how the hell is she going to find work?  How many employers in Baltimore would know ASL?  Would anyone even want to hire a mute?  Looking at her reflection the scars on her neck seem to stare back.  Those scars have been with her since the beginning, the cause of her handicap.  The source of all the torment.

_You incorrigible little monster,_ she hears the Matron’s voice like icy claws up her spine.  _You stupid girl.  No wonder you were tossed into the river like garbage._

Now she hears the taunting voices of children whose names and faces she has long forgotten, who had friends of their own in that cutthroat institute.  But nobody would take in Elisa.  Her only friends are monsters in the closet.

_I saw her hanging out at the Jewish orphanage again.  Yeah right, like anyone wants to adopt her._

_Hey!  Who tore your neck up, dummy?  What, you running away again?_

_That pretty face is all she’s good for.  Even that’s not much!_

_God, those scars creep me out._

_Freak!_

_Fuck you,_ Elisa mentally snaps, pops the collar of her second-hand coat and the scars vanish from sight.  She imagines her cheap shoes becoming steel sabatons and stomps down on the whispering demons like roaches.  Full of determination, or maybe spite, she enters the restaurant.  Even if the people here likely don’t understand ASL, Elisa can see a stack of newspapers, and that promises ads for work.

Seated in a lonely corner she’s approached by a tired-eyed waiter and points to a bowl of vegetable soup with crackers as her meal.  She pretends not to notice the sideways look he gives for her silence and focuses on the paper.  When he returns she absentmindedly signs _thank you_ and doesn’t see if he gives her another scrutinizing look.

Between circling ads with a spare pen and a spoonful of broth Elisa can swear she hears that waiter chatting with someone in stage-whisper, just barely catching something to the effect of, “that weird chick over there”.  Folding the newspaper and setting it aside for now she sees them in her peripheral; he not too subtly points her out and snickers to his coworker, who looks unimpressed.

“…she’s right there, man…”

“…can’t hear me, she’s deaf…”

And now she’s lost her appetite.  Feeling vindictive, Elisa stealthily scribbles onto a napkin and waves the man over.  The unfinished soup is taken away and replaced with a receipt, which is folded with the scribbled napkin placed inside, and after paying up front she hands the waiter the folded receipt feigning a tip.  She ducks outside just as the vaguely smug look on his face evaporates and he turns red upon seeing **I’M NOT DEAF** glaring up at him.

That’d felt good, but it also brings the nagging voices back, so Elisa tries to ignore them.  Bit of a rocky start, sure, but there are plenty of opportunities in Baltimore and surely people who are more open-minded.

 

* * *

 

By evening Elisa’s confidence is gone, her toes are squeezed like a vice in those shoes, and she’s still as unemployed as she was this morning.  So much for spiteful determination.  Just about every establishment she’s come across, listed on the ads or otherwise, has either refused her outright or explained in backhanded politeness that no, they aren’t hiring.  Never mind the unspoken implication that they don’t want to hire people like her.

Despite being accustomed to this sort of treatment, even dismissive comments sting more than she’d like to admit.  Makes it feel like _she’s_ the one at fault.

At least she has this long coat as protection from the rapidly lowering temperature.  Elisa shuffles into the green fabric.  It’s a size too big for her short, skinny frame but it’s her last line of defense if she can’t find a place.  Chain mail or a surcoat.  All she needs now is a hat, and that can be her helmet.  Elisa heaves a bone-deep sigh, breath misting before her.  She keeps moving, feet aching in protest at the continued march.  She passes by stores boasting the latest electronics, furniture, shoes (god, she needs new shoes), but ignores them like the invasive demons chittering at the back of her skull.

Right now she just wants to find a place to stay for the night.  Someplace quiet, but with enough background noise that she can’t hear herself think.  She contemplates another prospect in the movie theater across the street, a shabby apartment complex above it.  She remembers all the times she’d spent sneaking into that theater to get away from the world, wonders if anyone there would recognize her.  Elisa feels for the wallet in her pocket and kicks herself; does she still have enough money for rent after that soup from earlier?

_A whore by Christmas,_ the Matron had said.

_Fuck you,_ Elisa thinks again.

She finds herself wandering towards the docks.  If a worker or manager finds her, maybe he’ll take pity on a homeless orphan and give her a job, manual labor to toughen her up.  That would help pay for the theater-apartment.  But right now Elisa is drawn almost magnetically to the water, tide high after the recent downpour and opening to the Chesapeake Bay beyond.  She would come here after slipping out of her latest film viewing, still high on the rush of yearning for something like the chemistry between two people and just stare at the water.

What _is_ it with her and water?  Between the mysterious circumstances of her birth and the gill-like appearance of her scars, Elisa may as well be a fish.  She likes that.  Being in water, even if it’s just in a humble bath, has a way of making her feel at peace and whole, like it’s where she’s meant to be.  Even after today Elisa manages to find a smile and a tune in her heart, allows wistfulness to take over as she begins to whistle, the words playing out in her head.

> _How pleasant, bobbing along_  
>  _Bobbing along on the bottom_  
>  _Of the beautiful briny sea_
> 
> _What a chance_  
>  _To get a better peep_  
>  _At the plants_  
>  _And creatures of the deep_

Something snaps her back to reality.  It’s the most innocuous thing, water sloshing against the dock’s edge, but something in Elisa’s gut gives her pause.  That splash just now had been out of sync with the rhythmic lapping she’d whistled to.  Elisa squints at the dark water and tries to find her reflection.  She whistles again, picks the tune back up.

> _We glide_  
>  _Far below the rolling tide_  
>  _Serene_  
>  _Through the bubbly blue and green_

There it is again!  This time Elisa knows there must be something under the surface, reacting to the noise.  Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, something she’s always wondered was just a literary phrase.  Is someone watching…?

She backs away from the edge and surveys her surroundings.  Shadows loom ominously and though she seems to be alone, it feels as if anyone – _anything_ – could be lurking in the darkness, waiting to pounce.  Just then Elisa spots a sign; it’s a notice regarding recent worker injuries around the water at high tide and a curfew.

There’s another slosh.  And then a new noise, sort of a clicking followed by a halting chirp or whistle in a pattern that Elisa recognizes as the tune.

A wave of goosebumps crawls up her body; no person could make a noise like this.  It lacks… it doesn’t have the proper cadence or rhythm that a person would have.  It’s not as if someone were speaking the lyrics to a song instead of singing them, but as if something were producing or imitating the sounds that those words make, with none of the inflection a human voice can provide.

_far.  be-low.   the.  rol-ling.  tide._

_Don’t look at it,_ Elisa tells herself.  _Just walk away.  Don’t look at it!  WHY DID YOU LOOK?_

She’s standing at the edge of the dock again, staring at the water.  Too curious for her own good and it might get this cat killed, and it will take more than satisfaction to bring it back.  Elisa is aware of a low rustling in the distance, like leather or fabric in the wind.

She slips one foot out of its shoe, then the other.

Something rises into view, but only enough for the water to shift like some organism sliding along a thin membrane.  Black.  Reptilian, serpentine.

Finally – _finally_ – Elisa’s brain and body are on the same wavelength and her first instinct is to distract whatever the thing is, so she kicks one shoe like a football, does an about-face and breaks into a sprint across the asphalt, all before that shoe hits the water.  There’s a huge aquatic surge and Elisa’s heart leaps into her throat.

The rustling is back, louder now, and Elisa banks towards the adjacent warehouse.  Now, the solid and heavy sound of an impact and – _clopping?_   Suddenly Elisa body-checks a wall she’s sure wasn’t there before, and a big hand reaches out to steady her before she can fall on her back.

“Hey, hey,” says a low but not unfriendly voice.  “You all right?”

A dock worker.  It must be a dock worker.  That sounds about right to Elisa’s frazzled brain.  She nods.

“Cool.” 

There’s a burst of static, and what sounds like someone’s voice.  He produces a walkie-talkie and speaks into it.  “Abe, we got a civilian here.  Yep.  She’s fine, just looks a little spooked.  I guess she caught a peek of Chessie.  Say lady, ain’t that your suitcase over there?”

Elisa blinks, flexes both sets of fingers.  Empty.

Oh, crap.

He pats her shoulder.  “No worries, I’ll get it.  You stay here in case things get messy.”  Then he meanders towards the dock edge, clop-clop-clopping.  He walks under a street light and Elisa does a monstrous double-take.

The man she’d thought to be a dock worker is a veritable giant in a long brown trench coat with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular red arms – or, one muscular left arm and a titanic stone right one, the fingers like bricks.  A long, thin tail swishes catlike with each step on cloven feet.

There’s a loud splash from the canal and something comes sailing through the air, hitting the asphalt with a wet slap.  The shoe Elisa had kicked, now mangled to shreds.  The red giant considers the sight and looks back at her, yellow eyes gleaming under a heavy brow crowned by sawn-down horns.

“Guess he didn’t like it,” he quips.

_That makes two of us,_ admits the part of Elisa’s brain that’s taking this all remarkably in stride.

The red giant stops at the edge, tail coiling around the suitcase handle and lifting it to his free hand.  He’s talking over the walkie to someone – what was his name, Abe? – and Elisa catches a few snippets of his side of the conversation.

“…you sure?  …okay.  Gonna be mad if he tries to eat me…”

The red giant turns to Elisa again and beckons her over.  “Hey, wanna see something?  It’s safe, honest.”

Tonight has taken so many turns for the weird that it feels perfectly normal to approach someone who looks like a professional-wrestling demonic P.I. (minus a matching fedora) and what may be a sea monster.  So approach she does and Detective Satan holds up her suitcase, which she takes and manages to sign _thank you_.  He turns on a heavy-duty flashlight and beams it over the water.

Something rises to the surface, and Elisa’s breath hitches.  It’s… a fish man.

He doesn’t look anything like Universal’s gill-man that Elisa used to dream about befriending; this one is streamlined, smooth pale blue skin with dark stripes and frilled gills on his neck.  His big eyes are alien but intelligent.  All things considered, he’s rather handsome.  Elisa assumes this must be the ‘Abe’ who Detective Satan was talking to.

The fish man blinks sideways at her.  “Oh!  Hello there!” His voice is soft, eloquent.  He ducks his head a little under Elisa’s gaze, and it occurs to her that he might be embarrassed by her staring.

“Still good?” the red giant asks.

“Still good, Red!  May I introduce, the Chesapeake Monster!”

That huge serpentine thing Elisa caught a glimpse of breaches the surface; illuminated by the flashlight its head brings to mind an eel, or prehistoric whale.  Any apprehension she would feel is quelled by the fish man’s hand stroking up and down the creature’s neck.  The beast stares placidly at her before rising higher and opening its fanged mouth, produces that uncanny call from earlier.  Elisa matches the sounds with lyrics in her head:

_far.  be-low.  the.  rol-ling.  tide._

“Chatty guy,” Red observes.

Abe the fish man explains, “The canal opens to the Bay at high tide, and our friend here was caught in during the last storm.  He was looking for food and accidentally took a bite of a dock worker here, rather like a typical shark attack.  Then he heard your whistling and interpreted it as a call – that was Beautiful Briny Sea, wasn’t it?”

A grin breaks across Elisa’s face and she nods.  She whistles and Abe waves his finger through the air, humming in time with her.  The beast chirps along with them.  It stretches its neck out further, now close enough to reach out and touch.  Elisa hesitates, glances at Abe.  At his encouraging nod she pats the creature on its snout, finding its skin to be smooth and rubbery.  Some distance away its tail slaps the water.

Elisa feels electric with delight, her heart swelling.  Just a few hours ago she was struggling to find a job and now she’s among monsters, petting an honest-to-god cryptid like it’s a giant water dog.  She can’t contain the voiceless wheeze of awed laughter.

This feels like—

“My very own Disney movie,” Red chuckles.  “I shoulda brought popcorn.”

Abe nods.  “Chessie’s going to be fine, provided we find a way to get him out of the canal.  He has poor eyesight, you see.”

Elisa glances to the barrier separating the canal from the bay and gets an idea.  She snaps her fingers to get their attention and points the bay, pantomimes the creature leaping over it.

“Uh,” Red offers.

“Excuse me,” Abe approaches and holds out his hand, webbed and textured with circular patterns like suction cups.  “May I take your hand, miss?”

Elisa’s eyebrows quirk up, but since he asked she takes his hand.  His grip is firm but gentle, not quite as slippery as she expected.  From the contact there’s a sort of tickling sensation.  Abe searches her eyes and nods.

“It seems we have similar thoughts, Miss Esposito,” he says. 

_How the-?_  

“I can jump over the barrier, call him, and hopefully he can jump over.  Good idea.  I’ll see if I can’t find something to bait him with.”

Abe releases her hand and dives under, leaving Elisa thoroughly puzzled; she looks to Red for an explanation.

“Abe can read minds,” he exposits and pulls out a cigar, lights it.  “Mind if I smoke?  Anyway, I don’t know the exact science of it but apparently he’s got a unique frontal lobe that lets him do that.”  Red puffs on his cigar for a moment.

In the distance Abe leaps over the barrier, graceful as the dolphin.  An awkward silence falls between Elisa and Red.

“So,” he starts.  “I guess you can’t, uh…”

Elisa shakes her head.

“Crap, I’m not good at this.”

She shrugs.

“I once knew a guy who spoke – or, y’know, _knew_ sign.  Never thought I’d need to learn it, though.  How do you say sorry?”

Elisa closes a fist and circles it around her chest.  Red repeats the motion with his stone hand.  He’s trying, which is more than what can be said for most people in Elisa’s experience, and she’s grateful for it.  She signs _thank you_ , mouths the words so he knows what she’s saying.

“Your name’s Esposito, right?  Think I remember hearing something like that… doesn’t it mean ‘orphan’?”

She nods.  Esposito; Exposed; a traditional Italian name given to foundlings like her.

Red takes a long drag off his cigar.  “Well, nice to meet you, Miss Esposito.  The name’s Hellboy.”  He rolls his eyes (at least Elisa thinks he does) when she shoots him an incredulous look.  “Yeah, I know.  Wasn’t my idea.”

Elisa tests the name out.  Throws her index finger down and pantomimes flames – _hell_.  Raises her right hand to eye level, makes two closing mouth motions with her fingers and thumb like a shadow puppet – _boy_.  She furrows her brows.  This time she faces him and fingerspells the letters _H_ and _B_.

Hellboy watches her, and repeats the motion.  _H-B_.  “Like that?”

Elisa nods, knocks twice on an invisible door.  _Yes._

He grins mischievously.  “Can you teach me how to swear?”

Elisa smirks.  Typical thing to ask about a new language; she likes this guy.

Whistling carries over the wind and they look toward the barrier where Abe hoists a sturgeon over his head, whistling for the creature – Chessie.  It spyhops from its spot at the dock and tilts its head; Hellboy barks “Hey!” and points a stone finger to Abe’s direction.  Abe calls it again, and after a moment the creature submerges.  Water ripples where its serpentine body circles around the dock, building momentum.  It rockets into the air, toothy maw clamping down on the offered sturgeon, arcing over Abe and streaming water in its wake.  He shoots Hellboy and Elisa a thumbs up, jumps back into the canal.

“Welp, mystery solved.”  Hellboy taps ash off the tip of his cigar.  “Nice change of pace – usually this job ends with bruises and another ruined coat.”  At Elisa’s questioning look he leans in conspiratorially.  “Not supposed to tell you this, but I’m a bit of a cryptid myself.  Abe’s better at the whole secret agent thing.”

By this point Abe vaults onto the dock.  He stands at full height, towering over Elisa but not reaching his partner’s stature; slender but muscular.  He gives Elisa a smile and nod of his head.

The two exchange a few words and just now Elisa’s mood sobers.  Mystery solved, job done, time to go home.  Something cold creeps into Elisa’s heart at the realization that these two will be slipping out of her life, probably never to be seen again, like the last vestiges of a wonderful dream.  She blinks rapidly.  When did her eyes get so hot and wet?

Hellboy notices her sudden change.  “Hey, are you okay?”

Abe locks eyes with Elisa; it’s difficult to tell, but Elisa gets the feeling he’s trying to ask her consent to speak.  She recalls what Hellboy said about his ability – their contact from earlier giving him a glimpse into her mind.  What else would he have gleaned?  Does he know her situation?  Elisa nods feverishly.

Abe nods and turns to Hellboy.  “Do you know if we’re hiring?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs.  “Why?”

“Elisa – excuse me, Miss Esposito – she’s homeless and unemployed, and not for lack of trying.”

Hellboy looks from Abe to Elisa.  “But you’ve got friends or family around, right?”

Elisa’s vision blurs, looks down.  Damn it.  She hasn’t cried in years.  Get a hold of yourself.

“She’s orphaned,” Abe whispers.

Hellboy’s face softens.  “Oh.”

Elisa can’t meet their eyes, hating how pathetic she must look to them, this scrawny slip of a girl whimpering like a stray pup, but nobody has ever treated her this way before, looked at her like she’s a _person_.

She’s given a jolt when Hellboy’s hand, the flesh and blood one, rests on her shoulder.  Physical contact in this way isn’t unpleasant, but Elisa’s so unused to it that she has to restrain herself from flinching or throwing her arms up to separate them.  Sensing her discomfort Hellboy removes his hand and points to an emblem on his coat sleeve, a hand grasping a sword.

“Ever hear about the BPRD, the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense?”

Elisa stares.

“That’s a no.  Must be doin’ my job better than Manning thinks.  Anyway, Miss Esposito, think of us as paranormal cops.  There are things that go bump in the night, and we’re the ones who bump back.”

Abe chimes in, “It can be a dangerous line of work, some positions more than others.  You handle yourself well with us – and with Chessie.  Helping him jump out of the canal was your idea, and our organization can use all the help it can get.”

Elisa’s heart skips a beat.  She signs, stops, takes Abe’s hand in hers and signs with her remaining hand and thinking to him, _You’re offering me a job?_

“I’m not suggesting you become a field agent and go on wild, dangerous adventures.”

_I’ll clean the floors and toilets if you need me to._

Abe smiles at the joy overflowing from Elisa’s face.  “Dr. Manning may not approve,” he points out to Hellboy in that tone of voice that says ‘I know we shouldn’t do this but I’m doing it anyway’.

“I know,” Hellboy gives them a Cheshire cat grin.  “Elisa, right?  Hope you like bagels, ‘cause we’re going to Jersey.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971), where Beautiful Briny Sea is from, is a childhood favorite of mine in which Angela Lansbury plays a witch in WWII Britain looking for a spell that will kick the Nazi’s asses. What’s not to like?
> 
> Chessie is Baltimore’s very own cryptid situated in the Chesapeake Bay with the earliest known sighting in 1936. With the various speculated critters he might be, I went with something resembling a Basilosaurus.


End file.
